


Hereditary Enemies - The Danger Within

by A_J_Crowley



Series: The Good Book Of Omens [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_J_Crowley/pseuds/A_J_Crowley
Summary: When a nightmarish vision throws doubt over Crowley's ability to control his demonic instincts, he is forced to come to terms with the horrors of his true nature. That is, until an unexpected knock on his door in the middle of the night brings his entire reality into question.Frightened and isolated, Crowley must seek comfort in the only soul he can trust. An angel he sought to kill within the monsterous illusions of his deams. Aziraphale.Now, trapped in the dark void of his own withering mind, will Crowley's hellish instincts prove too great to overcome? Or will an angel's undying love provide the key to his salvation?





	Hereditary Enemies - The Danger Within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smudgeandfrank](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=smudgeandfrank).
  * Inspired by [Hereditary Enemies](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/515468) by smudgeandfrank. 

> PLEASE NOTE: This entire fanfic has been inspired by smudgeandfrank's beautiful Good Omens comic (Please look them up on Tumblr)! Their art is utterly gorgeous and I pray this piece of writing lives up to that! It is a gift for their outstanding work which never fails to bring a smile (and occasionally, a tear) to my day!  
So, from the GO community, I just wanted to say a massive thank you - and I hope you find the same joy in my words that you have gifted the fans over the last few months!
> 
> WARNING:  
Depictions of violence.  
Temporary major character death.

“There he is… my darling Crowley…”

The demon blinked, roused by the voices that seemed to leak through the bubbling brimstone, seeping through the molten cracks in murmuring rivulets; their scalding tendrils leeching into his brain.

“Do you see it, Serpent of Eden? Come… come and bear witness to what you have done.”

_“No…”_ The response that formed in Crowley’s mind exited his mouth in a choked sob. Tears welled, carving pale tracks down flame-scalded cheeks. He desperately fought to shut his eyes; to burn the vision from his gaze until the world was lost to a cataract haze of his own making. He couldn’t bring himself to look upon the decimation that lay before him. _He couldn’t…!_

_ _“C… Crow…ley.” __Another voice, soft and fragile as a morning zephyr, jarred him from the throws of his rebuttal. With a stuttering breath, the demon winced as his eyes betrayed him. They lowered slowly, tracing the sharp curve of slender fingers as they entwined like fronds of ivy around the hilt of a celestial sword.

_ __No…___

They kept on going, absorbing the crimson splatters of blood, bright as rose petals against a flush of ivory skin.

_ _ _No, please… Stop!_ _ _

But they didn’t. Couldn’t. The voice was beckoning him. Down. Down.__ _Down…__ _

Slitted pupils skimmed along the edge of the blade, tearing at the sight of the sacred flames that scoured the metal. It reminded Crowley of hellfire. Of burnt, blackened wings and the howling of damned souls dragged into the sulphur, wrenching on the smoke and fumes of an occult void bereft of Her light.

“Please! STOP!!! Don’t make me see this! Please…”

And then, it was over. The fragile, stained-glass walls of denial that Crowley had built caved with a shatter. The demon gasped, his wretched heart feeling as though it had been exorcised from his chest. A figure lay slumped before him, back arched in agony against a slanted pillar of stone as the tip of the blade drove deeper into his chest. Blue eyes widened as the soft, curved body slackened beneath the strain, gasping breaths strangling as lungs constricted and refused to inflate, desperately gagging for air.  
“Aziraphale…?” The name blanched from the demon’s lips; an utterance of agony too great to summon into words. He stumbled, tears falling feverously now as he fought to withdraw his hands from the sword, but they were no longer his to control. Instead, they pushed deeper. Harder. Lancing the angel’s heart and pinning it to the stone beneath his dying vessel. Crowley wailed.

“No! Please… Aziraphale! I… I’m SORRY!”

But the angel simply stared, deaf to the demon’s words. His eyes grew still, skin losing its rosy glow as the life drained from him, until he was as pale and imperfect as a cracked, porcelain doll.

“I knew you hadn’t escaped your true nature…” The voices from the brimstone uttered devilishly, so close Crowley could swear they now resided in the dark vaults of his own, twisted mind. He let out a tremendous howl, fangs gritting as wings of midnight black erupted from his spine, stretching into the heat and ash until they towered parallel above the ground; a portrait of crucifixion.

“Never forget, Crowley...” The voices continued to sneer, spiralling away, tearing from the demon’s brain and projecting themselves onto Aziraphale’s blank expression. The dead angel twitched, his mouth opening to reveal a smile of sharp, bloodied teeth. “You… are MINE!”

***

Crowley shot up with a gasp, clutching at his chest as the angel’s name tumbled from quivering lips. He sat in the darkness of his London-based flat, sweat-soaked bedsheets clinging awkwardly to his trembling frame. He gripped the soft material in his hands, crying as he let the feeling of the damp folds anchor him back to reality.__ _It was just a nightmare. A stupid, insidious dream!__ _

“It’s not real.” Crowley soothed himself, attempting to calm the panic of his own, ragged breathing. “It’s not… r-real…”

But it had been, even if just for an instant. The demon had accepted that reality. He had lived it. Endured it.

“It’s… NOT… REAL!” The cry left him drained. A desperate plea. A prayer; even if only to a God who no longer loved him. He needed Her now. Needed Her like a child needed their mother. But only the dark, cold walls and the lingering silence gave its answer.

Reaching for the small mobile nestled atop the covers beside his protruding feet, Crowley hastily tapped the screen. The phone buzzed to life with a bright flash of white light, and the demon shielded his eyes as he dialled the only number he had ever needed to call.

“Come on, angel… Please be alright… PLEASE!”

“Ngh… H-Hello?” A familiar, bleary voice answered.

Crowley nearly sobbed in relief. “Angel…?”

“Crowley, my dear boy, is that you?”

“Ah… H-Hey…” Crowley sighed, letting the tension drain from his scarred shoulders the slightest touch. “You… You okay, Aziraphale?”

“Am I okay?” The angel on the other end of the line seemed a tad flustered, his tone graciously soft, yet laced with unspoken concern. “I should be asking you the same thing. You sound dreadful, my dear. And calling at this hour? Is… Is something wrong--?”

“I’m fine.” The demon interjected, far harsher than he had intended. “I’m just… I just felt like checking in, is all…”

There was a beat of silence, the crackle of static at the end of the line. Crowley wondered whether the angel had taken offence and simply ended the call. He wouldn’t’ blame him.  
“For a demon, you have never been a good liar, dear.” Aziraphale’s voice finally replied, sounding even more worried than before. “Why don’t I hop down and see y—?”

Crowley shook his head, muscles once again pulling taut; marionette strings on the verge of snapping. “NO! Just… Just go back to bed and forget I even called… Good night.”

He could hear Aziraphale shouting his name as his thumb swiped at the ‘end call’ button, severing the connection with an unflinching beep! Letting the mobile slip from his fingers, Crowley watched as the device fell into the thick, damp sheets, but his mind was elsewhere. It was flying; floating above a scene of molten rock and bloodied feathers. Of a dead angel and a wailing demon unable to control his instincts.

Cupping his face into the groove of his hands, Crowley let his emotions tumble out of him, shivering as tears welled and fell, spreading cool fire on contact like drops of cascading holy water.

And then he heard it. The buzz of mechanical whining. His misted gaze focused on the discarded mobile at his side. Aziraphale was calling.

“Damn angel…” Crowley hissed, allowing his head to fall forward as a fresh wave of emotions threatened to cleave him in two. Sadness. Loneliness. Fear. So much fear…

“Leave me alone. For _your_ sake.”

***

The knock at the door came a few minutes later. A gentle thrumming of knuckles rapping against wood. Crowley jolted upright, his coiled body flinching at the sound. He could sense a holy presence emanating from the outside corridor, shedding sensations of light and comfort into the sparse interior of the darkened flat.

With a shuddering sigh, Crowley leapt to the doorway, a single amber eye squinting through the tiny, glass peephole. Aziraphale’s azure blue gaze stared intently back at him, watery like the ocean on a clear summer’s day. The demon could see it, shining like a beacon in the gloom.

“Hello? Crowley, dear?” The angel called hesitantly, as Crowley took in the sliver of an ancient nightcap mussing his blond curls. “I-I know you said not to visit but your call truly worried me… can you at the very least let me see you so I know you are alright?”

Aziraphale’s voice was thick and groggy with concern. Crowley bit his lip, small fangs drawing pinpricks of blood as he forced himself to remain quiet. He yearned for nothing more than to embrace his dearest complain; to hug him, to touch him; to know with absolute certainty that the figure standing at the opposing end of the locked door was indeed real, and whole, and his.__ _Aziraphale, alive and breathing.__ _

But he couldn’t. Not after the dream. Not after watching him die by his hand. Crowley began to shake.

“Crowley. I know you’re there.” A second plea, soft and laced with a note of desperation. “Please, open the door, my dear. I am here to help you—”

“You stupid, fucking angel!” The long-since fallen soul, drowning in his own primal fear, snarled viciously back. “You can’t HELP me! I’m a goddamned demon! I’m a walking timebomb of death and destruction! I could KILL you with a snap of my finger, and I’m SICK and TIRED of you acting like you don’t get that!”

Crowley’s cries were heated, angry; the words short and clipped to hide the hiss itching at the back of his throat, threatening to rattle against his tongue. Tears fell with new ferocity, streaking against flushed, freckled skin.__ _He had to do this. He had to! No matter how much it hurt._ __Aziraphale would be safer if he believed him to be a danger; a hereditary enemy. He could run away. Run like he should have done the day they’d met on Eden’s eastern wall some 6000 years ago.

“Just—Get the FUCK out of here, will you?! No one can help a damned soul like me! Even God has turned Her back! I… I am NOTHING, alright?! Just… just leave me alone…”

Silence descended, unbearably loud in the wake of Crowley’s outburst. He panted wearily; the ugly, scarred patches of flesh where white wings had once resided heaving with the erratic breathing, tightening like unshed snakeskin; a wretched reminder of days spent slithering in the dirt.

Had he…? Had he left? Crowley dared to flit a tearful eye across the peephole, surprised as the angel’s name dribbled from his lips. “Azir… Aziraphale…?”

A shifting of weight. A shuffle of smooth fabric. Aziraphale must have slipped to the floor during the demon’s feeble attempt at scolding.

“I’m still here, Crowley.” He murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, if not a little hurt. “I’m just… taking it all in.” A pause. “You don’t have to let me see you, not if you don’t want me to. But I refuse to leave you in this state. Just… just talk to me, won’t you, my dear? Please.”

On the other side of the door, Crowley winced.__ _Why? Why won’t you let me push you away?__ _

“Even after everything I said… you STILL won’t leave…?” It was more of a statement than a question. The demon rolled it around in his mind; a marble of unfathomable certainty. How could his angel still care for him? How could he still be kind, even when Crowley had screamed hideous profanities and thrust them into his face?

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale’s voice shattered his frazzled train of thought. “I will NOT move from this spot until I am certain that you are alright, Crowley!”

The demon almost smiled. “Heh, you damned angels and your unwavering faith.”

“Well, it IS our modus operadi.”

Crowley huffed a defeated sigh. Of course his angel would still love him. He saw the good in everything, even where none existed. Such was his blessed curse.  
“So… this nightmare?” Aziraphale ventured tentatively, hitting the topic right on the nose without the need to pry. “You’ve had dreams like this before. The ones where… you’ve killed me?”

Crowley swallowed, attempting to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. “Yep. It… It was like I knew I had done it, but I wasn’t in control. I wasn’t me. I drove a sword into your heart and watched as you died.”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to form a response. “I see… no wonder you seemed so distressed. That sounds truly dreadful.”

“Even though it’s over. Even though it wasn’t REAL… it still feels like I did it. It feels like something’s changed inside of me…” the whispered confession came out as a barely-withheld sob; a mortal sinner begging for forgiveness. It crushed Crowley’s heart; as dark and withered a-thing as it was.

“C-can you answer me honestly, Aziraphale? Have you… ever been afraid of me?”

The angel at the other end of the door clicked his tongue in thought. Crowley could hear him kneading his hands nervously as he sought for the right words.

“To be frank, I did fear you at the start of it all. But it wasn’t because of YOU, really… although you did sneak up on me.”

Aziraphale gave a small chuckle, beaming somewhat fondly at the memory. “I was afraid because of what I had been told of demons for years in Heaven before my posting in Eden. My superiors claimed that demons lusted for the death of all life, ESPECIALLY angels. And yet, there you were. A demon. Making conversation with me! From that moment on, I never feared you. I came upon the realisation that Heaven was wrong about at least one demon.”

Crowley shut his eyes, recollections of their first, fateful encounter flooding him in a barrage of nostalgia. The warmth of the sun on his scales. The scent of coming rain. A protective wing shielding him from the damp, cold throws of the storm. It was the day he had sworn an oath to whichever great powers could bear witness to a demon’s promise; a declaration to repay the angel’s kindness. To be his companion on that day and all days that followed, until the end of time.

“After all,” Aziraphale continued, almost cheerily. “How could I be afraid of a demon who has saved my life? Not just once, but countless times, in fact! I am honestly more afraid of what would have become of me had you not been there! Paris, 1793. London, 1941. Alexandria… 48 BC….”

The angel seemed to gasp those words. Crowley withered, brittle to the emotion in Aziraphale’s tone. He remembered that day with frightening accuracy. It was scorched into his brain. The fire. The heat. The sound of Aziraphale’s agonised screams, pleading for help; golden tears welling as he watched the great texts of humanity burn about them. Crowley had almost lost him… the only soul on this godforsaken planet that had made his immortal life seem the least bit tolerable. He had come so close…

“A true demon would never have been there. Never risked anything to save me. But you… YOU did.”

But Crowley was no longer listening. He sat; frozen; serpentine eyes transfixed on his open palms. The same hands that had pulled Aziraphale from the blaze. The same hands that had driven the blade into his heart. The remnants of the nightmare were filtering through now, refusing to be kept at bay any longer. Blood. Sticky and warm on his skin; covering those same hands…!

With a pained grunt, Crowley balled them into fists and tucked them against his barren chest, vaguely aware of Aziraphale’s voice calling his name.

“I’m–ngk—I’m fine.” He soothed weakly, feeling the blood drain from his fingertips at the pressure. “Just… just what if I’m not who you think I am? Or even who I think I am?! What if… What if I’m not ME…”

In the moments that followed, neither angel nor demon dared speak. The hush crept in, as terrible as the quiet before a hurricane. Right now, it was brewing inside Crowley's mind. A storm that would inevitably sweep him away, so far inside himself, no one, not even Aziraphale, would be able to find him again.

But the angel refused. He would not give up. Not in Crowley. Not ever.

“You can stop right there, my dear boy! I know you better than anyone, Anthony J Crowley. Dear Lord, I have encountered you in every conceivable situation for 6000 years! And I know, demon or not, you are a GOOD person. You always have been, and you always will be. No one, not even Satan himself, could change who you are! And I… I will NEVER leave your side, precisely because you are YOU! My best friend…”

It was all the demon could do to stop himself from wailing. Crowley sniffed, wiping his eyes along the back of his hand in futile strokes. Still, the tears kept coming, as endless as God’s great flood. He would drown the Earth if given half the chance.

“Crowley? Are you… crying?” His angel’s voice probed through the door.

“N-NO! ‘Course not! Demons don’t fucking cry, you… you ridiculous angel!” A small hiccup broke Crowley’s response in two. _Stupid, malfunctioning vessel! _

“Well then, if that’s the case, perhaps you could open up now?” Aziraphale pressed lightly, his tone as warm as sun-kissed honey. “I know you may not want to, but if humanity has taught me anything, it’s that we should be there for the people we lov—”

Aziraphale coughed, choking on the end of his sentence in a fluster, although he recovered just as quickly. “I mean deeply care for. Erm…. What I’m trying to say is that you are a… companion, whom I very much want to be beside. N-NOT that I always have to be physically beside you, just that--! Oh dear…”

The angel was fast losing his composure. He drifted off, letting the words die in his throat. Crowley sat vigil as they faded, sighing with a resolve he did not feel strong enough to possess, but found itself within him, nonetheless. It guided his hands as they fumbled for a pair of black shades before reaching for the lock.

He couldn’t let his angel see him like this, puffy-eyed and wet-cheeked. He couldn’t risk letting the shield fall. He had built his armour a long time ago. He’d be damned to strip it off now.

Steeling his frayed nerves and the tremor in his lip, Crowley pushed open the door – just in time to catch Aziraphale’s cherubim face pop up to greet him.

“Ah! There you are, Crowley!” the angel gushed tenderly, smile-lines forming dimples in his chin. He was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit Crowley had ever seen; 1950’s tartan pyjamas and matching nightcap; a pair of white bunny slippers adorning his feet.

The demon would have laughed under different circumstances, but not tonight. He stood rigid in the doorway, far enough inside to let the shadows conceal his lithe form. He had to keep himself detached; distant.

Aziraphale frowned. “Dear…?”

“Right.” Crowley whispered, ignoring the angel’s fretful expression. “Well, you dragged yourself all this way. Might as well come in if you want… I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon anyways.”

The demon backed up, giving Aziraphale enough of an opening to enter the flat. The angel took a tentative step forward, but instead of walking inside and making himself at home as Crowley had expected, Aziraphale made a beeline for his face. He reached out; fingers stretching to gently pluck at the shades covering his swollen eyes.

“Come now, Crowley. You don’t need these with me.”

_ __But Crowley did need them._ They were his only defence; the final pillar keeping his grand illusion from crumbling down and suffocating him. _ _

“H-Hey! Don’t! Aziraphale, I…” Crowley threw back his head, shirking away from the angel’s touch, but it was already too late.

“Oh, Crowley…” The sound of Aziraphale’s anguished murmur destroyed the last strands of dignity the demon could muster. He turned away, mortified.

Aziraphale and never seen him cry. Once, he had come close, on the day the world had almost ended. He’d been drunk, grieving in a bar in Soho, numbing the thoughts of losing his best friend in a bottle of cheap whiskey.__ _The day the bookshop burned…_ __When Aziraphale had appeared before him in his corporal form, Crowley had broken down, unbearably close to tears. Still, he’d refused to let up his charade of false bravado.

Now, he was exposed, and he was drowning in it.

“I… I look THAT good, huh?! He croaked hoarsely, letting the full weight of his emotions clamp down on him. He could feel the swollen pouches beneath his eyes, the lines of utter, devastating sorrow scrunching the bridge of his nose. ‘Suppose my post-nightmare style isn’t much to look at, eh?”

And then something happened that Crowley was wholly unprepared for. Aziraphale bolted forward, wrapping his arms around the demon in a light, yet firm embrace. One hand cradling the crook of his neck, the other delicately brushing against the atrocious scars of once-angelic wings that that been ripped from his back millenia ago.

“Shhhh. It’s alright, my dear.” Aziraphale breathed, letting Crowley’s head fall against his soft, rounded shoulder. “Listen to me. I am NOT afraid of you, Crowley, and you mustn’t fear yourself. You ARE a good person. Never forget that! Oh, and it’s alright to cry my dear, demon or not.”

“A-Azira-Aziraphale…” Crowley choked, his tense muscles slackening beneath the angel’s touch.

Aziraphale had seen him. The deepest, ugliest parts of him the demon had dared to bare, and he had still accepted what he is. He had felt his scars. He had seen his tear-swollen eyes. He’d held his body, cold and trembling against him.

A barrage was rising in Crowley now. It would come. He let it.

First came a sob. Deep and stuttering. It spilled into the angel’s shirt; a warm breath against his neck, no stronger than a zephyr. Crowley reached up his hands, letting his fingers grip the course, chequered fabric with the fragility of willow fronds. His body shivered, weakened from keeping the pain pent up for so long. He gritted his teeth and held his breath. And cried.__ _Oh God, how he cried!_ __Rasping, aching wails. They echoed from his core, projecting outward and muffling in Aziraphale’s grasp.

“I…I… I’m not c-crying, angel. I just have something in my eyes. It happens when you don’t blink. Y’know, snake stuff.” Crowley lied blatantly, barely able to breathe between his sniffling.

“Ah, I see.” Aziraphale murmured in response, clutching Crowley tighter. He knew the demon had to feel strong within himself. To cover up his vulnerability; even if it meant trying to cover the truth before his very eyes.

“A-And I don’t NEED your sympathy, b-bloody angel…”

Aziraphale smiled at this, glad to feel the familiar spark of fire catching within his friend like tinder, feisty and whole. “Of course not. I just felt like hugging you. Nothing more.”

The minutes stretched. Crowley’s breathing began to calm; distressed whimpers fading into soft hiccups that every so often snagged on his tongue. Still, he would not loosen his grip. The angel had become his anchor; his very tether to the world. He needed him now; his soul lost in the rosy glow of the angel’s presence; the one that spoke of warm nights and comfort; of cinnamon and log fires to chase away the monstrous memories of his dreams. He was everywhere. He was _everything_.

“Angel…?”

“Yes?”

“Just… uh… just don’t go dying on me anytime soon. Got it?”

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale said, sending up a silent prayer to Heaven. A promise. An oath. “I’ll always be right here… Mind if I stay for a bit, dear?

Crowley nodded, drying his eyes on the hem of the angel’s shirt. “If you’d like. Couldn’t hurt to have the company, I suppose…”

The pair did not let go of each other that night. They waited for the dawn, folded in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Crowley counted Aziraphale’s heartbeats. They were firm and strong, untouched by the nightmare’s blade. He could have listened to them forever. And maybe… Maybe he would. They were the sound of his sanctuary; a tiny fragment of Heaven; his old home; residing on Earth.

_ __Perhaps, ___Crowley thought hopefully;__ _God may have just forgiven me, after all.__ _


End file.
